


The Merc and the Hawk

by volchitsa



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volchitsa/pseuds/volchitsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade Wilson and Clint Barton are sent to Russia for a mission for SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Merc and the Hawk

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Barton and Wilson: Agents of SHIELD AU by justmybones on tumblr. Slight references to my other Avengers works. Other Marvel characters may make appearances in later chapters, but this takes place before the Avengers film and does not contain spoilers. All warnings and ratings are subject to change.

“Sir, you can't be serious,” Clint Barton protested. Fury held up his hand, squeezing his one good eye shut and breathing out slowly through his nose.

“I am, now stop complaining,” he spat, his hand gliding over to his intercom. “Would you send in Mister Wilson, please?” He fixed Clint with a satisfied smirk.

“If I had known what they had meant when they called him the Merc With the Mouth...” Clint muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair and concentrating as hard as he could on keeping his hands from throttling the next person to walk through the office door.

“Well it's not because of my lovely pouty lips,” a voice sang behind him, and Clint could already feel the headache behind his left eye begin to throb. “Good to see you again, Hawkeye. You look positively delighted to see me. How is Tasha? Does she still have that--”

“Sit down, Wilson,” Fury ordered, and Wade sank into his chair. It took every ounce of willpower in Clint's body not to punch him. “We've called the two of you in specifically for this mission. I wouldn't ask you to work together unless it was absolutely necessary.” Clint snorted, scratching at his nose and leaning forward in his chair expectantly. Despite his utter loss of composure around Wade, he was a true professional, and would rather not risk the success of a mission because of his completely rational annoyance at the sound of his voice.

Not that he hated Wade by any means; quite the contrary, he was a very useful person to have on the team. At least he was when he kept his damn mouth shut, which wasn't as often as everyone would have liked.

Fury went over the details of their mission very quickly, Wade interrupting him every few sentences to ask his stupid questions; was there a restroom nearby, would there be an in-flight movie, what was the protocol for if Clint tried to kill him through not-so-friendly fire, and more.

“I swear on my one good eye, Wilson,” Fury hissed after he had finished debriefing the pair of them. “If I hear of even one line of 'My Sharona' being sung through the intercom, I will end you myself before another syllable is uttered. You got that?”

“You are the opposite of everything that is fun,” Wade commented flippantly, standing up and straightening out his shirt. “Look up Nick Fury in the dictionary and it's just a picture of a frowny face. A frowny face with only one eye.”

“Get out, Wilson,” Fury sighed, receiving a sarcastic salute from the Merc With the Mouth as he left the room.

“Sir, I might kill him,” Clint said as soon as the door clicked shut behind Wade, pinching the bridge of his nose and crossing his free arm over his chest.

“Barton,” Fury sighed, getting to his feet and giving Clint a stern look. “If you didn't think that at least once, I wouldn't have put you two together.”

-

“Seriously though--”

“No.”

“You didn't even let me finish!”

“Didn't have to.”

“You're too grumpy this morning. I was just trying to be--” Clint stopped in his tracks and fixed a glare at Wade, his patience reaching its end and the area behind his left eyeball threatening to burst. He took momentary respite in the fact that Wade was waiting for his interruption.

Instead, Clint sighed and walked on, using every bit of strength left in his body to resist wrapping his fingers around Wade's throat.

“Anyway, as I was saying--”

“I have duct tape and a dirty sock and I'm not afraid to combine the two to get you to shut up, Wade,” Clint spat.

If Wade continued talking after that, Clint never knew; he trudged along in silence, blocking out all sounds, focusing on the task ahead. They were hiking into town instead of being driven or flown, somewhere just outside of Nizhny Novgorod. They had landed just outside a tiny village during the night, after hours of Wade using the large television in the plane to watch every in-flight movie the private jet had and talking to Clint for what seemed like days about the best way to get bloodstains out of clothing, and had set up a small camp as far away from each other as possible until morning.

Clint tried to remember the last time he was in Nizhny and caught himself smiling at the memory, the time he almost killed Tasha when he still knew her as Natalia and instead inadvertently acted as her human space heater for a night. He knew better than to mention anything to Wade, but the Merc With a Mouth noticed his change in expression and could not help but comment on it.

“Are you thinking about how we have to share a hotel tonight?” he mocked. “Because I don't want any funny business. Also, I call dibs on the nicer bed, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. And I get first dibs on the shower and I get to pick what we watch tonight. I'm thinking ice cream from room service. Do they even have room service?”

“Wade,” Clint interrupted, still a little too cheered up by the memory of Tasha to really be upset with him. “I just keep thinking about how satisfying it's going to be sewing your mouth shut tonight.” He stopped walking and glanced over at the other man, smirking despite himself. “I am very good when it comes to stitching up things that should be closed.” Wade snorted.

“You and Fury should make a club or something,” he commented. “Get matching tee-shirts, or tattoos, or you should get an eye-patch.”

“Wade?”

“Yes, Clinton dear?”

“Shut up.”

-

Thirty seconds of silence. That's all he needed. Just thirty seconds to gather his thoughts and pop a painkiller and he'd be ready to take on any monologue Wade decided to throw at him.

Well, almost.

“So tell me all about Natasha,” Wade sighed dreamily, cupping his face in his hands and sprawling himself across his bed like a schoolgirl. “I worked with her once. She didn't like me much at all. I think she may have tried to shoot me once. I mean, can you say rude?”

“Doesn't surprise me one damn bit,” Clint muttered, mostly to himself. He focused most of his attention on unpacking all of his gear – his bow and arrows in particular – and taking an inventory on it all before packing it all back in his single suitcase, a ritual he performed every time he checked into his hotel for the night. Tasha knew better than to speak to him during that time and usually spent it in the shower or taking an inventory of her own supplies, for which Clint was forever grateful. Of course, that was Tasha, who could read him like a book and was totally in-tune with every move he made. Wade... not so much.

“I know you don't like me very much either,” Wade blurted, his tone suddenly serious, causing Clint to nearly jump up from his inventory session. “But we have to work together and to be totally honest I really don't feel like getting shot – by bullet or arrow, I'm not picky – any time soon. That cool with you?”

Clint shut his suitcase slowly, using the excuse to look down and hide the small smile that had found its way to his lips. So Wade had a side that wasn't entirely comprised of jokes. Who would have thought?

“Same to you, Wade,” he settled for, tucking his suitcase underneath his bed and folding back the covers. “We don't like each other, but I'm not heading back to SHIELD to face Fury without you. Got it?” Wade grinned, curling up with his pillow.

“Oh, Clinton,” he sighed, yawning between words and drifting slightly. “You're so wrong. I like you just fine.” He was snoring within seconds, whether faked or real, Clint didn't know. He chuckled to himself as he slipped between the sheets, trying to ignore the uncomfortable prickly feeling on the back of his neck, the same one he always got when Natasha wasn't on a mission with him. He wasn't entirely sure he could trust Wade to have his back in the field, but as he fell into a dreamless sleep, he realized he was going to have to try.


End file.
